The Bad Dog
by rangeroftheNorth52
Summary: Ten year old Estel is in for more than he bargained for when he rescues and secretly adopts a lost wild Warg puppy. Eventually, Estel sets out to release Fengil back into the wild. But when things go wrong, where will Fengil's loyalties lie - to Estel or to his pack? (Story includes Thorin & Company's visit to Rivendell).


**Welcome readers! I am proud to present to you my newest story. My apologies if I took a long time to post this, I haven't had much time to write lately and I'm still figuring out the chapter posting process. Thanks to all the people who took the time to read and review my other story, What Éowyn Saw.**

**Summary: Ten year old Estel is in for more than he bargained for when he rescues and secretly adopts a lost wild Warg puppy. Eventually, Estel sets out to release Fengil back into the wild. But when things go wrong, where will Fengil's loyalties lie - to Estel or to his pack? (Story includes Thorin Company's visit to Rivendell).**

**Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tolkien, except for the ones I made up (coming in later chapters).**

**Chapters will probably be posted every 1 or 2 weeks. As I mentioned earlier, my opportunities to write are few and far between. Reviews are appreciated, and I hope you enjoy the story!**

Prologue: In Which Another Warg is Saved

September 14, Year 7 of the Fourth Age

The wind roared and moaned like a howling wolf, blowing the rain down in unrelenting sheets. It was indisputably a day to stay inside, warm and sheltered from the elements raging outside. But despite that, if one were to look from a bird's eye view onto the Rohan countryside, one would see a small group of about five men on horseback, riding in pursuit across the plains. Among them rode none other than Éomer, King of Rohan, who had brought along several of his men to accompany them, and Aragorn Elessar, king of Gondor and Arnor.

Their small hunting party had been tracking a herd of elk for over an hour, and the driving rain, coupled with a rapid drop in temperature, made for decidedly bad weather conditions. Éomer wiped rainwater from his face and looked over at Aragorn, who was riding a little ways ahead of him. Despite the ceaseless rain, cold weather and rugged terrain, or perhaps because of it, Aragorn looked as if he'd never been happier. His dark wavy hair, which he kept carefully combed while ruling in Gondor, had already reverted to its natural state - shaggy, wild and windswept. The two men were soaked through to the skin, and the horses' hooves kicked up mud that splattered them from head to toe. And the funny thing was? Aragorn didn't seem to mind it at all.

"This rain shows no signs of letting up," Aragorn shouted, turning in the saddle to look back at Éomer. Seemingly incongruous with his statement, a wide smile spread across his face like the sun emerging from behind a cloud. He held out one hand, letting the cold droplets splash onto his palm.

As a matter of fact, he seemed far happier than he'd looked when Éomer had visited him in Minas Tirith a month earlier. Aragorn would never have said a word about it, but Éomer sensed that the long, tedious administrative work required of a king was beginning to take its toll on him. No matter how much time he spent sitting at his desk, poring over some obscure trade negotiation, the king of Gondor and Arnor would always be a Ranger at heart. Aragorn's barely concealed fatigue was, in fact, the reason why Éomer had suggested taking a break to go on a hunt in the Rohan countryside. And, seeing the former Ranger in his element now, Éomer was glad he'd done it.

In truth, the king of Rohan's thoughts were not far from Aragorn's own. As Aragorn's eyes swept over the wild, rugged, beautiful countryside, he thought of how he had served Gondor for many years under the name Thorongil. Yet despite all the time he'd spent in Gondor, he sometimes still felt himself to be a stranger in his own country. The wide-open, rolling hills of Rohan reminded him of the wilds of Eriador, fulfilling a deep longing for the North in his heart that he had not known he had.

They were riding along a raised, grassy crest, which overlooked a steep-sloped valley between two hills. Rainwater collected in the bottom of the valley and flowed downward, forming a narrow stream. On the other side of the hill across the valley from them, he could just make out the shape of the elks' antlers, bobbing up and down as they trotted across the plains.

The former Ranger's sharp ears picked out the sound of long, deep-throated howls in the distance, faint now but growing rapidly louder. It was an unmistakably familiar sound to him, one he'd heard countless times before during his childhood in Rivendell. Listening carefully with his head tilted to one side, Aragorn thought he could make out seven distinct voices, each with a slightly different pitch. "Wild Warg pack," he shouted back to the others, raising his voice to be heard over the howls.

Seeing some of the men's eyes dart around anxiously, their hands straying to their weapons, he called reassuringly to them, "Do not fear. They are hunting the elk, just the same as we are."

At that moment, there was a sudden flurry of raucous baying, and the Warg pack came thundering over the hill in front of the hunting party, in hot pursuit of the elk. Just as Aragorn had estimated, there were seven Wargs in all, every one of them huge, shaggy and muscular. Their muscles rippled under their thick fur, which ranged in color from dark brown to slate gray.

The Wargs charged down the steep, boulder-strewn slope, scattering pebbles in their wake. Most of them bounded down the perilous rocky incline with apparent ease. But one Warg tripped and lost its footing, stumbling on the loose stones. Unable to stop its forward momentum, it pitched forward and tumbled headlong down the slope. Unfortunately for the Warg, its fall had loosened a large boulder, which came rolling down the hill straight toward it, rapidly picking up speed. The shaggy-furred beast scrambled desperately to its feet, trying to move out of the way, but the boulder was too fast. It landed directly on top of the Warg, pinning its right hind leg to the ground. Letting out a sharp yelp of pain, the Warg struggled unsuccessfully for a few moments to pull its leg free, then lay back, panting hard. Several other Wargs lingered, glancing back at their fallen packmate, but seeing that they could not help, they soon raced off after the rest of the pack.

Aragorn reined in his horse to a stop and held up a hand for Éomer and his men to do the same. Sitting astride his horse, he regarded the lone Warg, lying awkwardly on the ground with its leg trapped beneath the massive boulder. Left on its own, the Warg would never be able to free itself, and if other predators didn't get to it first, it would starve and eventually die.

Aragorn knew that Éomer and the other Rohirrim would not hesitate to leave the Warg and continue on the trail of the elk herd. And for a moment, he contemplated doing so. But his conscience would not allow him to do that. He had never in his life been able to abandon an animal in need, and if he did now he knew it would haunt him. He _knew_ these Wargs on a deep level. He could not leave this animal to suffer the slow, cruel death it inevitably would die if nobody intervened.

His mind cycled rapidly through these thoughts in an instant, leading Aragorn to a decision. It was clear to him what he had to do. If nothing else, he would do it for the sake of an old friendship. But Éomer certainly wasn't going to like it.

So, without saying a word, Aragorn swung one leg over the saddle and dropped lightly to the ground.

"What are you doing?" Éomer's flabbergasted voice drifted to Aragorn's ears. Aragorn held up a hand for silence.

Aragorn's horse, Roheryn, danced sideways a few steps and let out a high whinny, unnerved by the presence of the huge, wolf-like predator. "Steady," Aragorn comforted him, stroking Roheryn's nose. The horse calmed instantly at his master's touch, standing still while Aragorn slowly made his way down the hill towards the fallen Warg.

From behind him, he heard the scraping sound of arrows being nocked to bows, as Éomer's three men raised their weapons and pointed them directly at the Warg. Without turning around, Aragorn called, "Hold your fire!" The men lowered their bows, but kept their weapons at hand, ready to aim and fire at a moment's notice. Aragorn wished they would relax. Their tension and readiness to attack wasn't going to help the situation. In fact, it would only make the Warg more frightened - and a frightened animal is a dangerous one.

As he approached the Warg, the animal lifted its upper lip in an almost imperceptible snarl, but Aragorn saw it. He held out his hands in a gesture of peace, showing that he was unarmed. "Peace, mellon nín," he murmured softly to the Warg in Elvish, speaking in a low voice. "I mean you no harm." He felt its body relax fractionally at the sound of his voice, and he continued murmuring to it in a soothing tone.

Seeing the Warg up close, Aragorn's heart jumped and a long-buried memory stirred inside him. It had been many years since he'd stood in such close proximity to a wild Warg. He lifted his head and scanned the animal up and down, his heart sinking as he did so. For he could see the differences clearly now; the fur was a muddy brown color, instead of rusty red. And the white patch on its chest was just that - a patch, not in the shape of a star. And of course it was. The Wargs that lived here in Rohan were of a different type than the ones that roamed outside the borders of Rivendell. They had a leaner build than the Rivendell breed, with longer, shaggier fur. And besides that, it was impossible for this Warg to be the one Aragorn remembered. But still… it was hard to hold back the wave of old memories that threatened to wash over him.

Moving slowly so as not to surprise the beast, Aragorn placed his hands against the side of the boulder, the sharp, jagged edges cutting into his palms. He gradually applied pressure, until he felt the boulder begin to shift and slide. Aragorn bent his head to concentrate on moving the boulder, the Warg's massive, powerful jaws hovering only inches away from his unprotected chest. His back and shoulder muscles strained as he slowly pushed the heavy boulder off the Warg.

Éomer fidgeted anxiously on his horse from where he and his men watched the scene play out, some distance away. He shifted his weight in the saddle and fiddled with the hilt of his sword. He knew that Aragorn was capable of taking care of himself, but did he really have to practically put his head inside the beast's mouth?

As soon as the Warg felt the boulder's weight lifting from its leg, it rolled over and sprang to its feet, testing the leg that had been trapped gingerly. It stood stiff-legged, its whole body tensed and quivering.

Something indescribable passed between the man and the Warg as they faced each other silently. Éomer held his breath in apprehension, acutely aware that his friend was almost completely at the mercy of the wild animal. He wore no armor, not even a shirt of mail. The Warg stood stock still for a moment, then lowered its head slightly. If it had been a man and not a beast, Éomer would've sworn it was bowing to Aragorn. Then, abruptly, it turned and sprang away, bounding up and over the hill to rejoin its kin.

As he walked back to where Éomer and his men were waiting, Aragorn couldn't help laughing at the expression on his friend's face. Éomer dismounted from his horse and looked him up and down. When he saw that Aragorn was unharmed, he slapped his friend heartily on the back, his immense relief making the motion a bit more forceful than usual. "That was something else, my friend! What made you think you could free the beast without it attacking you? That beast could have taken off your head!"

Aragorn smiled but did not answer.

"You would help a beast that would not hesitate to hurt you?" Éomer asked.

Aragorn inclined his head. "Yes. I am… well acquainted with its kind. These Wargs of the wild are of an altogether different breed than those we have fought against in the past. They serve no Orc masters. And they answer to no one but the leader of their own pack." There was a touch of pride in his voice, which Éomer found strange.

"And besides…" he added, "I was fairly confident that it would not harm me."

Éomer's eyebrows shot up. "_Fairly confident_?!" He shook his head, half in admiration and half in exasperation. "What if you had been mauled? What would I tell Arwen then? I would not have allowed you to free the beast if I had known your intentions, but by the time I saw what you were doing it was too late to stop you."

Aragorn grinned. "And that is why I did not tell you."

"And how do you know all this about Wargs?" Eomer added curiously. "What you have told me is not common knowledge. Most men believe all Wargs to be evil in their ways."

Aragorn glanced down for a second. Then he looked at his friend, and with a distant look in his eyes he replied, "It is a long story, and perhaps a strange one. But suffice it to say, I am no stranger to wild Wargs. I had a friend once… "

**To be continued...**


End file.
